Simply Starting
by Whatever-Mayhap
Summary: DracoGinevra Story. My own interpretation of a very common theme. One-Shot


To her, it was simple enough, had been simple from the very beginning.

The relationship, that's the thing that had arisen and remained effortless. Well- it couldn't really be qualified as a relationship, per se (not till near the end, anyway). But there had always been a remote sort of interest between the two. You know the type; the kind that seems to only sprout from mutual curiosity. Looking back she realizes she can't pinpoint when curiosity planted the seed of interest. She only knows that it eventually happened.

If there is one thing that she **_can_** pinpoint, it is the first day, the first time, that mutual interest turned into something more. Not necessarily something deeper, though. No- it was simply something more.

There is something that you have to understand before continuing. And, that is the role they played in each others lives before they even recognized the bond they shared. She had been his secretary at the time. She still is (but, realize that she played the role of secretary more in the past, than in the recent future).

Definition of Secretary: one employed to handle correspondence and manage routine and detail work for a superior.

He was (and is—in a way) her superior and part of the job description was to save his arse, and wear a damned smile while she was doing it. So that's what she did. Saved his undeserving arse, and bore her newly whitened teeth. He didn't even say thank you. But that's beside the point.

Well, anyhow that night she did seek him, and, as is expected, she did find him.

But-- so did that Rita Skeeter woman.

Rita Skeeter (more of a bounty- hunter than a reporter) decided to stop Malfoy (and Ginevra Weasley, as well I suppose, seeing as how she was in an area of importance to the campaign- and add that to the fact that she was there as well as he, for the simple fact that Malfoy had dismissed her for the night) on his way out of the office. She had been waiting outside all afternoon to interrogate Malfoy on the causes of his latest 'Potter verbal bashing'. It was a damned campaign! Of course one politician would rip down the next (and even though his motives were probably far more complex, it was only fair to assume that this was his cause).This was a fairly close race, anyhow, and the politicians were beginning to get desperate. And, in all fairness, who wouldn't? This was to be the highlight of one persons' career! This was all to be the Minister of Magic.

Malfoy had directed an answer to one of Rita Skeeter's many questions, fully intending to answer a handful and leave. But, as soon as others realized that Malfoy was actually participating in the interview, they came. They came with their quills, and wands and some with muggle tape- recorders waving in the air.

She could sense the danger. You see, whenever one comes into an area of importance they are always in danger. Whether it be of well-proportioned gold diggers, or maniacal scoop-hungry reporters. Sometimes it's worse.

She tried to interrupt them. And, he uncharacteristically gave her a pleading look. Begging for help? Yes. She always had to dig him out of the ditches he created. She had virtually put herself in charge of this campaign. He could not lose. Not to Harry Potter. Not after the way she was so blatantly tossed away, once Cho Chang opened her squinty little eyes and came running back into his open arms.

But she admits, that she was after all, just being bitter.

Yet, nonetheless, she pushed past those incessant reporters, made up a lie from the top of her quick-witted head, that both he and she were to be late for an important ministry meeting if this mob were to continue as it were, and they took off. They ran, and though the press managed to take quite the bunch of pictures, they made it out of there (even though some daring photographers decided to continue with their chase).

Now, as I've said before he didn't say thank you. ..but he did kiss her once.

Once on the cheek.

It would be hard to even recollect how many kisses he aimed upon her lips. A lot**_… and_** one thing led to another. At the time, she didn't know what his motives were, but have no doubt she knew hers. And perhaps his were the same. To get back at Harry-can't-even-stay-in-a-decent-relationship- Potter. Looking back now, she doesn't see how it would've, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and Draco, by the way, was looking very handsome.

So, today here she is, several tantalizing weeks later. What they have together, Ginevra and Malfoy; I don't know what to call it. Bliss, it seems. Pure bliss.

Today his tall, narrow and completely important looking owl delivered her a letter from him. These days it seems like she lives for his letters. She hadn't meant for it to go this far, but since it has who was she to stop it? Yes, that is her excuse to keep "relations", so to speak, with her boss. But, she doesn't care, so back to the letter.

_Important ministry outing. Dress up. _

_D.M_

He always signs D.M. Complains about his first name.

("Why couldn't they (his parents, of course) give me a good, common English name? What's wrong with Derrick? Or Demitri?"

To which she almost always reply," because-- you're not English. You're Greek. And your name is very important. Named after the Greek lawmaker who made the first legal code, you know. Come now, stop complaining.")

As for the letter, she is to be his date for an "important ministry outing". As you can see he doesn't like to waste time. So here she is with their campaign colors (Green and silver-- I wonder how they thought of that…) glistening from head to toe, and she loves it. She will be on the arm, of the Daily Prophets 'proclaimed' "most endearingly charming man of the year"- and yes he is a man now. She absolutely adores how all these colors seem to clash with her red hair and brown eyes, though she doesn't, exactly, know why.

She hears the knock on the heavy, oak door, and she rushes to open it.

Ginevra: "I'm ready." He grins.

Draco: "Seems so." A slow smile spreads on her face, and she knows exactly how this night will end.

They apparate together, while she holds with nimble fingers onto his waist, tightly, bearing a small, secretive smile. He's careful not to get them splinched, and for that she's grateful. They stand behind a long line of people that have apparated as well, and she leans in close to kiss him on the cheek. 'It's merely an innocent peck' she tells herself, with a small devious smile placed on her common yet vividly beautiful features (you see, when she smiles her smile tends to consume the whole of her face- quite lovely actually). He looks to the front of them, and knows exactly why she did what she did, but he doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he lifts her chin higher to meet his lips with a slow, sensual kiss. It doesn't even matter that Harry Potter (and for that matter anybody else that is at least remotely important) _is _looking. Their kiss is broken though, by which of the two, I am not entirely sure. They both heard the screams, though. Looking up she sees a purple flash, and then falls, albeit gracefully, into the sweet abyss of darkness…

- -

Ginevra Weasley (preferably called Ginny) happened to have at this very moment an itchy nose. On any other account, it was a completely opulent nose. It was most magnificently shaped, conservative, tasteful. Her forehead was aristocratic, and her cheekbones were smoothly cleaved, but they were not so sharp as to be inelegant or outlandish.

Her hair hung in limp strands down her back. She hadn't liked the hairstyle, herself, but her late and great boyfriend had mentioned to her that he preferred her hair in this particular fashion. So there she was an English patrician with a hairstyle she didn't much care for and an itchy nose that she couldn't scratch because hundreds, if not thousands, of people were watching.

Burying a boyfriend, sure could take the fun and energy out of an otherwise beautiful day.

She blinked her eyes to cover the teardrops she could feel forming, but her action caused quite the opposite effect. A single tear wound its way around her curvy cheek and deposited itself on her left shoe. Then another followed. And, another. And, it was all she could do to keep herself from breaking into hysterics. She made no movements to wipe away her tears, as not to alert anyone else to the toll this funeral was taking upon her.

But it seemed the media was a well-observer, because before long she could hear the clicking that only signified that pictures were being taken. And though she only looked straight ahead, out of the corner of her eye she could see bright flashes.

"Ms. Weasley?...**_Ms. Weasley_**?"

"Hmm…um-yes?"

"Is there anything you would like to share, concerning your experiences with Mr. Draco Malfoy?

"Y-yes. Sure."

Ginevra Weasley made her way up to the podium, and looked out at the sea of faces surrounding.

She cleared her throat, "Draco" she lowered her voice a notch," was a really great boyfriend." Through the crowd she could see the only person this part of the speech was aimed towards. Potter, of course. She gave him a pointed look. "And, he also was a really great politician. I feel confident that he would have been the most unique, and professional Minister of Magic this era has yet to have seen, but since he hasn't been given that chance I feel that it would be a shame to just let all of his efforts have been for nothing…" The tears came back and this time, she let them flow freely, without regret. Her voice broke, "For anyone interested I will be holding a meeting on Thursday, open to the public concerning how we will honor Draco's memory. **_And…_**" She stopped, intentionally stalling to add to the suspense. "**_I _**will be taking over the position of running candidate for the Minister of Magic. Thank you." She sobbed, quietly taking off the spell that magnified her voice.

She left the funeral proceedings alone.

Later that night, she took a picture of Draco with her to bed. With her head pressed against the headboard she looked at the picture longingly, and began to once again cry.

She fell asleep crying.

- -

"Ginny!" a sharp jab, was felt on her upper left arm. "Ginevra, wake up!"

She moaned. "Go away!"

"Come on! Why do you insist on torturing me?"

"What do you want?!" she cried, both confused and irritated. If anyone was being tortured it quite clearly was **_her_**.

"Get up, please!"

Her eyes fluttered open and, shell-shocked, she looked around. "Draco?" she bleated, weakly, once her eyes landed on the profile of her proclaimed dead, boyfriend, sitting to the side of her bed, with his head weakly thrust upon his hands.

"Ginny, I'm here for you." He muttered more to himself, than to her.

"Here for me?"

"Ginny, I've missed you." He proclaimed, remaining in his past position, and talking in an entirely too-small voice (that is, for a Malfoy).

She smiled a small, acquiescent (although still confused) smile.

"All I want is for you to wake up. Please. Just wake up."

Her face screwed up into an artwork of agitation, "But **Draco** I **_am_** awake."

She woke up panting, and sweating.

- -

The days continued on, without Draco, and sometimes without the dreams. Yes, she had dreams. The same type as before, and some where his words chilled her to the bone. Of course, he never threatened her. Dead or alive. But these particular dreams, she found herself replaying over and over, constantly, and almost to the point of insanity- and though, in the beginnings of the dreams the words he said were different each time, the endings always remained the same.

The dreams?

Well, like I've said, the dreams were the same type as before. He would always appear to her in her asleep. He was always just out of reach, sitting there in the same position invariably.

Usually she just watched him.

But those were the days when she wasn't overcome with grief and want. On the days that these emotions flooded through her almost to the brink of delirium, she tried with all her might to communicate with him in some form.

Sometimes she would think that they were having conversations. But they were usually so vague and could be easily interpreted as one-sided.

But, why, why were these dreams so memorable?

Because, of his parting words, each and every time.

"I love you."

- -

In a secluded wing of _St.Mungo's_ (reserved for those with long-term effects of a spell),there sat a dejected man, lying in an awkward position in an uncomfortable-looking chair.

He woke with a start, dragging a hand through the stubble that had found its way to his face in the nighttime, and tousled his waspish white-blonde hair groggily. Stretching his arms, languidly, he yawned, before wondering obscurely where he was.

Slowly, but surely the events of the last two months wormed their way into his subconscious, and, inhaling and exhaling a ragged breath, he gingerly lowered his shoe-clad feet onto the dull white-tiled floor, disregarding the protest of his cramped muscles.

Ceremoniously, he dragged the chair made of cheap red plastic and stainless-steel metal, away from its past space near the corner and closer to the hospital bed, and like every time before he placed his arms on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Ginny, I didn't ask for much out of our…" he struggled for the words to describe their 'relationship'. "… In **_whatever_** we had. But if you can hear me now, just…please, **_wake up_**…"

-

"please, **_wake up_**…"

There it was again- that incessant pleading for her to wake up.

'Oh, well.' She thought to herself, 'I'm going to be late for work, anyhow.'

So, kicking her blanket to the floor, and yawning a massive yawn (you know the type: eyes pressed shut, and mouth wide open) she fluttered her eyelids dramatically open.

"You're awake."

-

A/N: I've been considering if I should make this a one-shot or continue with it. I'l let you guys decide.


End file.
